Plain, plump and looking for love

Tag Archives: Dating

I’ve been checking on Big Dating Site obsessively over the last week or so, like an addict sweating through cold turkey and I couldn’t help myself – I accepted a date.

I was totally being picky though and had decided I wasn’t just going to choose anyone – no more heartache for Patty’s plump little heart.

And there was the kiss. All pleasant-looking and normal-sounding and younger than me (can I really tick the toy boy fantasy of the bucket list? Yay!). His profile showed a well-rounded fellow and was full of excitingly adequate spelling and grammar.

Having been all bitten and let down as you well know, I tried not to get too excited about our date on Sunday evening and slapped myself around the head every time I started fantasising about everything going perfectly and ever after and all that. So going in with low expectations, I was super pleasantly surprised to find someone who looked exactly like his profile and smiled warmly at me.

We went through two cups of coffee and I couldn’t believe it – a date that was going well! I wasn’t exactly seeing fireworks or anything, but pleasant chit chat, no inappropriate questions or comments, he didn’t ridicule the people around me and was pleasant to the waiter.

So when he suggested we grab some dinner, of course I said yes.

After we’d made our orders (I went for the claypot crab and scallop, he for the vegetable pie), he said “Actually Patty, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

Huh? Surely he didn’t think it was appropriate for me to meet his kids or his parents or something half way through our first date. For me it’s still about four dates too early to even introduce someone to my cat Irony.

He clasped my hands and looked into my eyes. “I want to introduce you to your saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ.”

Now, I’m all for religious tolerance, live and let live and all (hey, some of my best friends are believers), but I don’t believe in god. It says ‘atheist’ right there on my Big Dating Site profile. His, I recall, said ‘Christian (other)’.

“Um, thanks,” I said, “but actually I’m an atheist. It says so on my profile.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I asked you out. I want to save you, Patty. I want to save you from an eternity of burning in hell.”

“Thanks again, but I don’t believe in hell, so I’m really not worried about going there.”

“I’m going to help you open your heart to God,” he assured me.

Do you see what he did there? Totally on-purpose stealth mission in waiting til we ordered food before revealing the crazy. Nothing up to then suggested he was on a mission and now I was stuck there!

“I’m sorry,” I said, “I’m really not interested in talking about religion. Can we talk about something else?”

“Without God there is nothing else. I don’t know what Satan did to lure you away, but I’m here to help you find your way back – back to your saviour the Lord Jesus Christ.”

“I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“Don’t be afraid. You’re a sinner, Patty. And sinners need to be saved. I can help lead you on the path to salvation.”

Someone at a table nearby got their claypot crab and scallop and it looked and smelled absolutely amazing, bubbling away inside a proper clay pot. Meanwhile, my date was busy quoting some sort of scripture to me. How come when zealots quote scripture they pick the weird passages that are all wishy-washy and don’t seem to make any sense? Whereas non-zealous Christians quote the cool things Jesus was supposed to have said which are hard to disagree with, because Jesus sounded like a pretty cool lovey hippy dude, unlike his Dad who sounds a bit crazy.

“Look,” I finally snapped, desperately hoping dinner would be here any minute and really glad I was pretending I wasn’t a total piggy and so didn’t order dessert at the same time. “To me religion is a fairy tale. Let’s just agree to disagree, can we?”

“It’s evolution that’s the fairy tale, Patty. Satan has poisoned your mind.” All the while he was smiling at me in an oh-so-pleasant but-maybe-not-all-there manner. “But you can be saved.”

It was pretty obvious that this wasn’t going anywhere any good, but I really wanted my dinner now, especially as I’d have to pay for it anyway. So I decided to ask him some questions about whether he believed the bible literally (“I believe the Bible is the word of God”), how did he explain the inconsistencies (“There are no inconsistencies if you read it with a pure heart”) and so on to fill in time until my dinner came.

The crab and scallop claypot was worth the wait, but a bit hard to enjoy as I scoffed it down in record time. I could see people around me doing that “tut tut, and she probably wonders why she’s fat” thing that skinny people do.

So did he ever actually want to go on a date with me? It seems he uses Big Dating Site stalking atheists and looking for souls to save. I wonder if that gets him some sort of fast track to heaven or a better job when he gets there or something.

So apparently wicked, sinful me can look forward to burning in the fires of hell for all eternity. But so long as there’s claypot crab and scallop there, I can deal with that.

So I’m still checking Big Dating Site daily because, let’s face it, it’s kind of addictive. Today I got a kiss from someone whose profile is so over-the-top I can’t really believe it’s real. I really really want to go on a date with him to see if he’s a troll or doing a social experiment on women with low enough self esteem or something.

I’m not sure it’s quite kosher doing this, but here’s a copy and paste from his profile:

I DON’T HAVE A PICTURE, ONLY CLASSY,INTELLIGENT,ELEGANT FIT & CONFIDENT WOMAN TO RESPOND, NO TIME FOR TIME WASTERS,TIMID & WOMEN WHO LACK SELF ESTEEM.

Hmm… good start.

Read before you reply: QUALITY IS A MUST coz i am cut above most(QUALITY &CLASS). NO CHRONIC USERS AND IF you CAN FIND ANY ONE BETTER GO FOR IT, DONT WASTE MY TIME IF YOU ASSUME THAT I WOULD MEET YOU TO QUENCH YOUR CURIOSITY,YES IF I LIKE WHAT I SEE I WILL COME FULL ON, IF YOU CANT HANDLE IT DONT BOTHER.

No, the phrase ‘serial-killer-rapist’ didn’t just pop into my head. Why do you ask?

I EXPECT THE LADY TO BE PREPARED/RECEPTIVE TO BE WOOED BY A TOP QUALITY MAN,

Yes, but do you expect her to be receptive to being ‘wooed’ by you?

I am 44 and not 43 as my profile states, not sure how that happened & couldn’t be bothered to change.

My guess is “couldn’t be bothered” actually means “don’t want to admit I couldn’t figure out how to do it”

I HAVE NO STAMPS , IF YOU INTERESTED PLEASE FREE TO EMAIL ME, PROMISE YOU WONT EVER BE DISAPPOINTED.(just been honest)

True to his word, his ‘kiss’ was one demanding I spend the money to contact him.

I am happy confident man please all i ask is the same in a lady.Read on:

I bet all the folks on here are wonderful humans, but WHY is it that woman(the mature ones) are so Timid,LACK CONFIDENCE and INSECURE to face reality- does this site make instant relationships(laughs) it does worry me when a woman is expecting something instant, she should know better that wont last Or do these women feel intimidated when a man asks for class & style.

I think he could possibly be mistaking timidity and insecurity for sheer unadulterated terror in women’s face-to-face interactions with him

I am a Happy man

Yes, I can tell. Joy de virve oozes from every pixel

& a ALPHA MALE,

Did you hear something? It seems to be going “Warning, warning! Danger Plump Patty! Danger!”

seeking to meet a HAPPY LADY.Articulate, well mannered,Vibrant,light hearted, decent, fun loving, cool (wicked) sense of humour in short a gentleman or you can say a cheeky cute spunk. My two love’s Travel-Music .Looking for the third to complete my love triangle. I love to go out and dine and explore the exotic cultures that the world has to offer-A romantic gentle soul.

Really, he doesn’t need to spell out how articulate and light-hearted he is. I mean, I totally picked that up from the profile.

Dont send me a reply saying” It wont work between us” gee we dont even know each other, and how could any one predict that.

I’m not sure there’s a crystal ball in the world that’s malfunctioning enough not to get this one right…

What I want to say is I hate it when I don’t feel particularly enamoured of someone for perfectly legitimate reasons – and I imagine, judging from her post there are plenty of said legitimate reasons I would not particularly want to hang around Samantha – and that person, or even other people, tell me I’m just jealous because she’s prettier than me.

Aaargh! Nearly everyone is prettier than me. If I refused to be friends with all women who are better looking than me I’d only ever be hanging around with trolls or Samantha Brick. (Oops I promised myself I wouldn’t go there. Oh well, too late now. Meow meow, I’m just jealous).

But this old chestnut comes up all the time, even though I don’t actively hate anyone – who could be bothered expending that kind of energy? But if I do express ambivalence for someone and they are in the 98th percentile of women who are better looking than me, then surely the ONLY reason could be that I’m jealous, right?

This despite the fact that I can point to empirical evidence that I have gorgeous women friends.

Grrrr… anyway, just had to vent. Will update on my dating adventures soon.

So the reason I haven’t updated lately is because I’ve been sitting on my couch like a blob of mashed potato watching back-to-back episodes of Revenge with a selection of gourmet ice cream tubs (which I’ve been sharing with Irony, but not too much because I don’t want him turning into a Plain Plump Pussy). Wallowing, I tell you. I’ve been wallowing. It’s not an attractive look.

The catalyst for the wallow was a series of uninspiring, awkward and downright depressing dates. See, before this little experiment I was able to convince myself that what my best mate Kate said was true – that I have all this inner beauty stuff going on that will shine through and enamour unsuspecting dates. But then I went out with Critical Man.

Maybe I should’ve read between the lines when he said he likes a woman who ‘takes pride in her appearance’ in his profile. But I figured he’s seen my photos and I do try to make the best of what I have to work with, which is why I put myself through the torture of the dodgy spray tan clinic (it’s still true – brown fat looks better than white fat, proven scientific fact) and do things like shower every day and don’t wear tracky dacks outside of the house.

But anyway, as usual, my Dating Alarm was malfunctioning and so I met Critical Man for a weekend afternoon date at a café.

After the cute young waitress took our order, Critical Man shook his head and said “I don’t know why they let girls with tattoos work in the service industry. They look so tacky.” Her tattoo, mind you, was a pretty innocuous little symbol of some sort on her upper arm and didn’t look too offensive to me at all. I made a little lame “I liked it,” comment and he glared at me and told me in no uncertain terms that tattoos were like a big neon sign that the wearer has no class.

I’d ordered a muffin because I was hungry and I do like me a muffin, once I get over comparing their shape to the lower half of my body. I’d kind of fooled myself that I was the only one who noticed this phenomenon, but Critical Man looked at the muffin, looked at my tummy area, then back at the muffin.

“Are you sure you want to eat that?”

Well, yeah I was sure – it was white chocolate and raspberry. Who wouldn’t be sure? I defiantly took a big bite, but then it stuck in my throat and I began to cough and a little bit of white chocolate catapulted out and hit him. I think I was more sorry about missing out on that bit of white chocolate than the assault committed on my date though.

Critical Man then proceeded into a diatribe of how losing weight was all about having respect for yourself and calories in vs calories out and if I just had a little discipline I would be able to get myself down to a desirable weight.

Disrespectful, undisciplined me defiantly wolfed down the rest of my muffin, told him I’d rather be a bit on the plump side than a balding, big-nosed, over-critical loser and left. Not my proudest moment maybe.

So that led to the downloading of the entire first season of Revenge, the propping up of the ice cream industry and the vow to never log on to Big Dating Site again.

But then a girlfriend introduced me to meetup.com and took me along to a couple of drinks events. Meetup.com isn’t a dating site – it’s just a social site, and so far I’ve had a lovely time. So maybe that’s another avenue for Plain Plump Patty. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Thanks so much for the messages of support and for thinking of me when I haven’t been around for so long. xoxo

So next date was Sunday afternoon. Because I was so nervous getting back into the game, we’d been bantering back and forth in instant chat for several days. I knew better than to get my hopes up too much, but the banter was really good. What girl wouldn’t swoon for a conversation like this:

Me: “What are you doing?”

Him: “Searching the couch for rubber bands and refrigerating them.”

Me: “Um, okay, I’ll bite. Why?”

Him: “They last longer that way.”

(I googled this later by the way and it is totally true.)

Me: “What do you use rubber bands for?”

Him: “I don’t really, but I figure if I need one it’ll be better if it lasts longer.”

Okay, so that was one of the more bizarre examples, but generally banter was lighthearted and speedy and we didn’t run out of things to say to each other.

Anyway, I arrived at the little pub and found he was the only person there, sitting in a corner, looking pleasingly like the photo of him, if a little smaller than expected. But I’m used to that.

I went over and introduced myself and he smiled and nodded. He already had a drink, so I ordered a beer from the bar and joined him.

“So, how’s your day been?” I asked.

“Good.”

“What have you been up to?”

“Nothing much.”

I waited for some more, but no more was coming. He just sort of sat there with this little smile on his face looking anywhere but at me.

“Rubber bands all frozen?”

Another smile, but no answer.

I sat there for 20 minutes trying to get something – anything – out of him. But every response was monosyllabic and gave me no opening for anything else. Finally I made my excuses and left.

I arrived home to a message from him: “I had a great time. Can I see you again soon?”

Anyway, in a promise to keep updating and because I’m going all softly softly on the whole accepting dates thing, I’ll just slip in an out-of-sequence post about my spray tan experience.

This was before Mr F, so I’m totally feeling pretty hot and desirable despite the disasters because I have a calendar full of dates for the week. I may have even wagged my finger at some people and called them ‘girlfriend’, but if I did, I would have given that up real quick in response to their reactions. Yeah, apparently I don’t wear ‘cocky’ too well. Obviously some deity or other decided I was getting a bit too cocky and sent Mr F to punish me.

Some sort of mega cosmic karma or something also saw one of those group buying deals pop into my inbox to get a night of speed dating for just $29 (normally $89.95). I went and had a look at the website and it seems to be constantly running events for all different age groups, so I’m looking forward to picking one and testing it out (and reporting back, of course).

Speaking of those group buying deals, I got one for three spray tans for $24 a little while back and decided to use one. Because everyone knows it’s a proven scientific fact that brown fat looks better than white fat.

You know what you probably shouldn’t do in life? You probably shouldn’t get a bargain basement spray tan. That’s what you probably shouldn’t do.

So I arrive at this place and despite its very glamorous name, it is a dingy little shopfront that’s not even open yet, so I have to sit outside in my carefully chosen super-loose caftan thingie hoping it doesn’t blow open to reveal I’m not wearing any knickers.

Finally this dodgy looking guy, fag hanging out of his mouth, opens up the place about an hour and a half after the opening times displayed on the door. He grunts at me over a threateningly hanging ash and beckons me inside.

Muttering something about “should’ve never signed up to this scam” when he sees my coupon, he orders me into a booth, tells me to strip and put on the paper g-string and wait for him.

Um… wait for him? “Are you going to spray me?” I ask.

“Do you see anyone else here?” he says. “You can wait for a female tanner, but there’s no opening for a few days and you’ll lose one of your tans. Read the small print. 24 hours cancellation policy applies.”

For the sake of $8, I probably should have pulled a bit of dignity out of my caftan and hightailed it out of there, but I couldn’t stand the idea of looking like an albino whale for a day longer and decided to go through with it.

Traumatic is the only way to describe the next fifteen minutes or so as I stood there in my badly fitting g-string while a guy with a gun demanded I lift this fold and that fold and stand in all sorts of vaguely pornographic poses so that he could ensure each bit of flesh got its brown on. At least he got rid of the fag while he did it.

When it was finally finished and I was left alone with the funny blowdryer tube (“don’t forget to lift up and dry under all the folds or it’ll be streaky” he warns me), I must have stayed in there half an hour because I was too embarrassed to face him again.

The end result was that I looked a little less whale-like and the colour was thankfully natural enough (and streak-free, because I dried the HELL out of all my folds) and it was almost worth the trauma. I even used the other two coupons later on, but I made SURE a female tanner was available!

There were a couple of dates so nondescript that I’ve pretty much forgotten them and so won’t be blogging them. So lets skip dates 7 and 8.

So, Date No 9.. let’s call him Fucknarsewipeguttertrawlingpigman (I knew there was a reason I didn’t use an “F” name on Date No.6) was fantastic. He looked like his profile pics (which I needed a password to see), he was someone I found attractive, but not everyone would, he was funny, attentive, disarmingly not perfect. So I figured he was perfect.

Therefore, I wrote him off as Not Possibly Interested In Me. By that I mean I went home desperately trying not to hope he would call, assuming he wouldn’t and urgently trying not to think about him whilst all the time sneakily thinking about him when I thought I wouldn’t notice.

An agonising three days later he rang and suggested we go out to dinner. He picked a restaurant about a zillion miles away from where I live. It was a cute little place, but I wouldn’t have picked it as worth driving 40 minutes for. The date was though and four hours later, toey as hell, I heard Kate’s copy of The Rules exploding as I agreed to a private nightcap. I was a wee bit surprised when he suggested my place, being so far away, but he said his place was no closer so why he picked that restaurant was a mystery.

Anyway, I’m not going to give you any gory details, but suffice to say I let his snake run amok in my ladygarden that night and then just about every night for the next couple of weeks. Always at my place. And a couple of times he had to cancel suddenly. But the laughs we had when we were together were just fabulous.

See all those flashing neon warning signs up above? You’d have to be some sort of moron to miss them right? Meet Patty the Plain Plump Moron.

There’s a good reason I’ve been ignoring the blog for the last six weeks or so. I thought I’d found someone and desperately didn’t want him finding my musings. I even considered deleting the whole thing, but then thought I was being a bit up myself because I haven’t exactly got a cult following.

But, of course, in case you’re as stupid as I am at regonising the warning signs, Date 9 turned out to be Married Guy. He actually had the nerve to tell me we had to stop seeing each other because his wife was coming back from her holiday, like it should have been something I should just accept and it was the most normal thing in the world. Yes, I’d asked if he’d ever been married before (answer: yes, a long time ago).

Naturally I went all psycho bitch and reported his profile, which has now been taken down.

So all this happened a few weeks ago and I’ve been wallowing in my misery, regaining the pounds I’d been going to blog about losing and irrationally hating all men. But now I’ve decided I’m ready to get back on the dating horse. I have a friend who’s willing to go speed dating with me and I’m going to update and reactivate my dating site profiles.

I’m sure I’ll recognise those signs if they ever pop up again, right?

Anyway, thanks all for the messages while I’ve been away and I promise to diligently keep updating from now.